Enchantress (The Evermen Saga, Book One)

by James Maxwell

  "Enchantress Ella, Sorrell here had an encounter with your young man. Sorrell, could you describe what you saw?"

  Ella turned to the guard.

  "He was quick — obviously he had some skill. Not as fast as our bladesingers though, nothing like that. The invisibility though, that was the hard part. Other than that he was naked, didn’t stand a chance if he hadn’t had that essence."

  "Invisibility?" Ella said incredulously.

  "Like our bladesingers’ shadow. But where they make light pass through their armoursilk, he’d somehow made the light pass through his skin. He could hardly be seen."

  "Do you know anything about this?" the High Enchantress asked.

  "No. No, of course not. How could such a thing be possible? Was he wearing something over his skin?"

  The soldier shook his head definitively. "Not a thing, he was completely naked. The bladesinger, he could sense him though. Almost took him in half with his zenblade."

  "Almost?" Ella said. Despite herself, she wasn’t sure how she felt about the thought of Killian being hurt. "What happened?"

  The soldier’s face grew grim. "The thief threw essence at the bladesinger. Sprayed it out of a bottle he’d stolen. Lord of the Sky, I hope I die in my sleep, I never want to feel pain like that."

  "That is all, thank you soldier," said the High Enchantress. She looked hard into Ella’s eyes. "Is there anything, anything else, anything at all?"

  Ella slowly shook her head, trying to think of something that could help. It was she who had caused this mess after all — her brother was out there fighting and she’d helped give the enemy a great weapon against them, at the same time crippling her house.

  "Only that he had red hair and an unusual name. He just asked me a lot of questions. Lord of the Sky, I don’t know what to say."

  The High Enchantress just nodded.

  "What do you plan to do next? How can we recover our Lexicon?" said High Lord Tessolar.

  "I’ll make plans to track him down, it’s our only option," said the High Enchantress. "I renewed the Lexicon recently. It will take time for the runes to fade."

  "He should stand out with that red hair," the High Lord said. "Just remember what happened to the animators’ loremaster, Evora. We can’t afford to lose you too."

  Evora nodded. She looked at Ella standing by, twisting her fingers in her dress. Evora tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "That will be all, Ella. Please forgive my harsh words. Next time a young man shows an interest in you though, make sure you find a little out about him."

  Ella turned away as Evora resumed her discussion with the High Lord, but heard a voice behind her.

  "Oh, I almost forgot. It was in the boat. There’s only about half left, but fortunately it fell on its side."

  The High Enchantress handed Ella the intricately worked crystal bottle, the stopper now where it should be, firmly sealing the bottle. "Here you go," Evora said. "Now, be on your way."

  For the second time in a short period, Ella began the desolate walk home from the Crystal Palace, with nothing but her thoughts for company.

  Ella could see bladesingers and soldiers prowling the outskirts of a small copse of trees. A few were looking at something on the ground. Getting closer, Ella felt an initial sense of revulsion, and then pity, when she realised it was blood. There was so much of it. Surely it couldn’t all be the bladesinger’s? She tried to avoid picturing Talwin, his insides turned to liquid. There had been plenty of blood then.

  Smaller splashes of blood led to a copse of trees, a pleasure park more than a real forest. This was where they’d tracked him to. Some of the High Lord’s best trackers would be summoned, to join the High Enchantress in the hunt.

  Ella stood looking at the blood, feeling a strange mix of pity and hate. The rage began to build in her. It had all been an act. Killian had probably laughed to himself as she’d offered him her kiss. He thought she was nothing, just a stepping stone to take him a little closer to his goal, a stupid, naive girl, lonely and looking for love.

  Tears welled behind Ella’s eyes. She didn’t blink, refused to acknowledge them. She hadn’t cried since Miro had left, sent to the front, and she wouldn’t cry now, not over some thief.

  She’d thought he cared about her! All that talking, the subtle meeting of eyes and the gentle touches, they were a lie. A trick!

  Worst of all, she couldn’t believe she’d shared with him her innermost emotions. The guilt she felt at Talwin’s death, the resultant sickness, Amber’s wedding and her loneliness.

  Ella caught some sidelong glances from the soldiers. She knew she must look a sight, dressed as if for a summer garden party, forlorn, staring at a pool of blood as if at her worst enemy.

  Ella had been the perfect mark, the easy target. Was it that she was so naïve, or was he the one at fault? That deceiver! The evil fraud. Killian had stolen the most important relic of her house, and because of him Ella’s brother could die.

  Ella pictured Killian: bloody, naked, with no clothing and no possessions. Good. She hoped he was found dead on the roadside. Her only wish was that she could be the one to find him. She enjoyed the image of him — hunted, fleeing, with only some strange power against the weight of Altura.

  Ella shivered as the wind picked up. She needed to get inside or she would freeze. Even in daylight it was too cold to be outdoors without a heavy coat. This winter was already proving to be a cold one.

  Winter. Ella looked up.

  She pictured Killian again: without shoes, without clothing, with no friends in a strange land.

  Behind the small wood, the parkland continued into the distance. The soldiers were concentrating their efforts here, searching for another place to pick up the trail until the real trackers arrived. Nearby, but in the opposite direction, was a sky temple.

  Ella began to walk with determined strides. Attached to the temple was a shelter, a place for the poor and needy to get away from winters’ chill. She could see linen hung out to dry, blowing in the breeze.

  ~

  "SOMETHING happen, there at the palace?" the old woman said, peering at Ella through rheumy eyes.

  "Yes, something was stolen. I’m looking for the thief. I need to know. Are you missing anything?"

  Her eyes widened in surprise. "Missing? Well, no. There’s not much here worth taking."

  Ella’s heart sank. It had been worth a try. "Are you sure?"

  "Sure? Well, I wouldn’t know where every little thing is now would I?"

  "Would you please be able to check for me? Would you be able to… to check your, well… your washing?"

  "My washing? Well, now. What is this about then?"

  "Please, could you please check for me?"

  The woman sighed. She picked herself up, joints creaking, and trudged with tiny steps to the wooden door leading to her garden.

  Bed linen and clothing were hung out to catch the breeze and whatever of the winter sun they could.

  The woman looked around briefly before turning to Ella, shaking her head. "It’s all here, young miss."

  "Please, you’ve hardly looked," Ella pleaded.

  Muttering to herself, the woman checked each line in turn. Suddenly she stopped. "My Bron’s clothes!"

  Ella looked up, "What did you say?"

  "My grandson, Bron. He’s studying to be a priest, here at the temple. Many people coming these days, you know, with the war and all. People get scared — they need the comfort of the Evermen."

  Ella wanted to throttle the woman. "About the clothing, is there something missing?"

  "Yes!" she almost shrieked. "That scratched thief has stolen Bron’s clothes!"

  "Show me."

  The woman grabbed Ella by the hand and took her to an empty space on one of the lines. "See, here!"

  Ella looked down.

  There was a splash of red on the ground.

  "Tell me, the clothes, what did they look like?" Ella grabbed hold of the woman with both arms, and then force
d herself to relax when the woman squawked like a chicken.

  "Why, like I said. He’s studying at the temple. White with a double black stripe. You know. The uniform of an acolyte."

  Ella felt a wave of satisfaction come over her, invigorating her. She had an edge now, Killian would stand out terribly in the garb of a priest She had a chance.

  "Thank you!" she said to the woman as she ran back out onto the street.

  ~

  ELLA threw random bits of clothing into a bag. She followed it with some gilden. What else would she need? She packed bread, cheese, and a few packets of dried beans. A small pot. The heatplate was too big and it hardly worked anyway. Some candles. An igniter. She’d made that herself; it worked, at least.

  Then she remembered — the essence. The High Enchantress had given her essence back to her!

  Ella added two scrills: one for fine work, the other suitable for most purposes. And of course, her green silk dress. She was an enchantress, after all.

  She felt much better. Anything she didn’t have she could either make herself, or she could trade enchanted items for what she needed.

  It shouldn’t take long anyway, Ella assured herself. She, an enchantress, against a wounded foreigner?

  Ella added a few more items and then stopped. The satchel was looking heavy enough.

  "Your Lexicon has been stolen," a soft voice said. Ella jumped into the air.

  A small creature was standing on the porch, looking in. It was one of the Dunfolk, Ella realised.

  "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

  The figure stepped forward into the light. It was a woman. She looked quite young, but perhaps it was her size.

  "My name is Layla. I healed you when you were sick. I am glad to see you are well."

  Ella didn’t know how to respond. "Layla? I… I should thank you. My friend Amber told me about you. My name is Ella."

  Layla nodded. "I know. You are the girl who was raised by Alarana."

  "You knew her?" Ella didn’t see how it could be possible.

  "She knew me. Only when I was very small."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Your Lexicon has been stolen. The strange one, one of my people saw him carrying it in on the road south."

  "They saw him?"

  "Yes. One of our hunters, Yalaran, he saw him. He said it was not important, but I remembered Alarana. She told me about a book with a green cover. She said it was called the Lexicon and it was very important. I remembered. I came to tell you. I have told you now."

  Layla turned to depart.

  "Wait!" Ella called. "Wait!"

  "What is it? I came to tell you. I’m leaving now."

  Ella thought furiously. She looked at her satchel.

  "Can you track, Layla?"

  "Track? You mean magarana?"

  "Umm… I think so. Can you follow a man by reading the signs in the earth?"

  "Of course. I’m leaving now."

  "Wait! Layla, will you help me? Please, Alarana told you the Lexicon is important. It’s very, very important. If the wrong people have our Lexicon they will kill all of my people."

  Layla shrugged. "That isn’t good. Your people are not my people though. See my skin? It’s different from yours."

  "Yes, we are different. But if these lands are conquered, your people will die too. This enemy has no love for your people."

  Layla shrugged. It meant nothing to her. She stepped down from the porch, and Ella knew that in seconds she would disappear into the trees.

  Ella thought of all she knew about the Dunfolk. "I know! I’ll give you a gift."

  Layla stopped. She turned, regarding Ella with suspicion. "What gift?"

  "How about armour, made of cloth, soft and supple, but able to stop the strongest sword blow?"

  Layla shrugged.

  "Umm… I know! A set of stones. Placed around the inside of a building they create warmth, enough warmth to survive a hundred winters in comfort."

  Layla walked up to Ella. She was a full head shorter, yet possessed of a confidence that Ella felt she herself lacked.

  Suddenly, Layla knelt down and started to rummage in Ella’s satchel. Finally she held something up.

  It was a silk dress, simply designed, functional yet graceful. It was a deep brown, the colour of the earth, its hem gold.

  "I want a dress like this," Layla said simply.

  Ella smiled. "It’s yours. That very one. I’ll alter it to fit you on the journey."

  For the first time, Ella saw Layla smile too.

  28

  The fortresses of Manrith, Penton, Ramrar, Charing, and Sark, known as the ‘Ring Forts,’ are to remain in Tingaran possession for a period of no less than thirteen years. At the end of this time the aforementioned shall revert to the control of Raj Halaran.

  — Treaty of Mornhaven, Clause 53

  "RUN! Back to the men!" Miro hissed. He sprinted away from the wall as fast as his legs could carry him. The darkness of the night quickly enveloped him.

  He was wearing black and a hood covered his head. The dark garments had been quickly put together by the enchanters at Miro’s request, nothing like armoursilk, but made for stealth and secrecy.

  He could sense the other men behind him — regular soldiers also dressed in black — and could hear the thudding of their boots as they ran up the hill combine with the heaving of their breath. Miro could make out Tuok’s stocky form just ahead.

  The bladesingers had been split up and distributed among the ranks of the soldiers. It was thought their confidence would rub off on the men, and prepare them for the battles to come.

  For Miro, it was a chance to fight the war the way he thought it should be fought. The soldiers automatically deferred to him, in awe of a bladesinger, even one so young. After Harlan’s Canyon the bladesingers had developed an almost mythical reputation. There wasn’t a man in the company who didn’t feel glad to be on the same side.

  They’d been fighting to reconnect with the main Halrana force for a month now. The Black Army were well dug in, effectively blocking them from the Ring Forts and the border town of Mornhaven, where High Lord Legasa waited in strength.

  And even if they managed to link with the Halrana High Lord, there was still the huge army encamped on the Azure Plains below the forts. It was as if the Emperor was simply trying to buy time, to tie up the Alturan and Halrana forces in a protracted and bloody war while he pursued a private agenda.

  Miro glanced behind him as he ran, looking back at the enemy encampment and praying for success. The builders of Torakon had been hard at work, and this gamble had to pay off. A low wall, reinforced with glowing runes, had been built around the main enemy encampment. Leading up to the wall were deep trenches and holes riddled with wicked spikes. Great towers were evenly spaced along its length. A mortar fired from one of the towers could reach a phenomenal distance.

  There were over fifty towers.

  Miro and the other soldiers fought over each trench, bloody hand-to-hand combat with explosions raining down from above. One by one the Alturans and Halrana took them, incurring heavy losses and then dispiritedly watching the enemy withdraw to the next trench, with the walls yet to be breached.

  And yet despite it all the men in green and brown were actually gaining ground.

  The soldiers in the Ring Forts constantly swooped down to harass the imperials and their allies. Unlike the Azure Plains, so far below, the Halrana lands held in enemy hands were easily accessible from Sark and the four other strongholds.

  Pressed by the Ring Forts on one side and the Alturan army on the other, the combined forces of Raj Tingara, Raj Torakon and Raj Loua Louna were gradually being pushed back.

  Nevertheless, Miro thought, with Petrya in the south and Vezna in the north undeclared, the war could still go in any direction. He hoped that High Lord Tessolar, back in Sarostar, was hard at work securing the support they needed.

  The boom of the explosion almost knocked Miro off his feet. It was
so loud that he clapped both of his hands to his ears while he ran. The runebomb he and his men had laid been crude — the enchanters didn’t have anything like the skills of the artificers — but it had been large. Very large.

  The scene behind him was lit briefly, but the shooting gout of smoke and flame obscured the great enemy encampment. The huge fortress Sark stood mighty above all, glaring down as if angry at the trespassers in Halrana territory. Miro could see the four other peaks of Manrith, Penton, Ramrar and Charing. Under their protection was the border town of Mornhaven.

  "Bladesinger, it worked!" a messenger, running alongside him panted. "Should I tell Lord Marshall Leopold?"

  Miro nodded, and then realised the messenger couldn’t see him in the darkness. "Yes, tell him there is a breach in the north-western quarter of the wall. Hopefully he’ll send in the ironmen."

  ~

  IT was only recently that a division of Halrana animators had joined them. They made terribly slow progress, weighed down by their equipment and constructs. The train of carts took an age to make the small distance from their fortified camp to the front line. Miro had thought it a terrible disadvantage — their weapons required so much essence that the animators feared activating them until truly necessary.

  Then Miro saw them in battle.

  It had been a battle of their own choosing, a hard probe at the enemy’s defences, an attack at all sides of the fortified encampment. The army had formed up, a massive force of common Alturan soldiers wielding swords, Alturan veterans with heavy enchanted armour, Halrana pikemen, bladesingers, dirigibles, mortar teams and a motley collection of Halrana partisans armed with whatever weapons they could lay their hands on.

  The Halrana animators erected tall steel towers, and then each ascended a tower and took a seat atop its summit. A metal table rested on each animator’s knees, and strange spectacles framed their eyes.

  Most of the men had never seen the animators in action before and they stood mesmerised.

  Miro carefully watched the animator closest to him. As a bladesinger he was free to move through the lined-up men. From square to square he travelled, weaving through the columns, passing men lined up in perfect symmetry. Finally he stood close, overcome with curiosity.